"Beautiful Chaos”

She finally reached her apartment building, the familiar sight offering no comfort. It simply represented a debt she could no longer afford to pay and a privacy that no longer existed.

Airi fumbled with her keys at her door, her hands still shaking from the shock of the firing and the fight with Saki. She pushed the door open, stepped inside, and reached for the light switch.

The silence that greeted her was wrong.

It wasn't the welcoming, expectant quiet of an empty apartment waiting for its owner. It was a dead, uneasy stillness. The scent of her home—a mix of old books, tea, and cat—was tainted by something cold, like outdoor air rushing in where it didn't belong.

A chill ran down Airi's spine. She flicked the light switch. The sight that met her eyes made her freeze, the key slipping from her numb fingers to clatter on the floor.

The apartment was not just messy; it was disturbed. Her small, cluttered living room looked like it had been violently ransacked. The neatly stacked boxes of archival reports she had planned to work on were strewn across the floor, ripped open. The cushions on her sofa were tossed aside. The cheap, flimsy lock on her window, which she had forgotten to check since summer, was visibly broken, hanging loose on the frame.

A sudden, terrifying thought crashed through her mind, eclipsing the stress of the scandal and the firing: Neko.

"Neko!" Airi whispered, her voice a fragile reed of sound in the wreckage. "Princess Night!"

She dropped her bag and began a frantic, terrified search. She checked under the sofa, behind the curtains, and under the low shelves. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a painful, frantic beat.

"Neko! Please, where are you?"

She rushed into the kitchen, the drawers pulled open, the contents scattered on the floor. She checked the bathroom, the shower curtain ripped down. There was no sign of the black cat.

The terror became absolute, blinding panic. This wasn't a random break-in. This was targeted. The only thing of value in her apartment, besides her songwriting, was the highly publicized identity of its owner.

The fans.

The thought was a cold, sickening wave. The crazy, obsessive, boundary-less fans of Ren Ichijō. They knew her name, her address, her life. And they had taken the one thing that was completely irreplaceable.

"No, no, no, they wouldn't," Airi whimpered, sinking onto her ruined kitchen floor, tears finally streaming down her face, the shame and anger of the day dissolving into pure, paralyzing fear. They took her cat!

She scrambled back toward the living room, grabbing her discarded phone to call the police, but her hands were shaking too badly to dial. The fear was a living thing, choking her. She had endured the corporate world, the studio pressure, and the public humiliation, but losing Neko; the soft, purring constant in her chaotic world was too much.

A loud, insistent rapping on her front door shattered the silence. Airi gasped, dropping the phone. She scrambled backward on the floor, her eyes wide with terror. Were they back? Had they come to finish the job?

"Who is it?" she shouted, her voice thin and hysterical.

"Komatsu-san? It’s Minato from downstairs, Apartment 101! Don't worry, it's safe! I just brought your cat back!"

Airi froze, disbelief warring with massive, shuddering relief. She crawled to the door, peering through the peephole. Mr. Minato, a kind, elderly gentleman who always offered her fresh-baked cookies, stood there. And in his arms, nestled securely and looking utterly furious, was a very familiar black cat.

Airi wrenched the door open. "Neko!"

Mr. Minato gently handed the cat over. Neko, upon feeling Airi’s familiar embrace, instantly switched from furious to terrified, clinging to her owner’s neck and letting out a plaintive, loud meow.

Airi buried her face in Neko's soft fur, tears of relief now mixing with the residual fear. "Oh, thank goodness, thank goodness! I thought—"

"I saw the elevator, Komatsu-san," Mr. Minato interrupted, his voice hushed and concerned, glancing nervously at the messy apartment. "I was getting ready for bed, and I saw a young man running from your fire escape just a few moments ago—a boy with a terrible camera and a bandana. He must have left the door unsecured, because your little one ran right out onto the hallway screaming for you."

He patted Neko gently. "I brought her in right away, but I didn't want to call the police, thinking you might be... busy. I'm so sorry about your things, Komatsu-san."

Airi realized the devastating truth: it hadn't been an organized idol fan attack; it was a single, opportunistic paparazzi trying to get more dirt on me. He hadn't been after Neko; he had been trying to plant a camera or steal something that would confirm the scandal. The "crazy fans" narrative she had constructed in her fear was just a terrible consequence of her own notoriety.

The sheer, overwhelming relief of holding her cat, coupled with the cumulative stress of the day, finally broke Airi. She stood there, clinging to Neko, and began to sob openly, the sound muffled by the cat's fur.

"I—I have to call the police," Airi finally managed, wiping her eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Minato. Thank you."

"It's no problem, dear," Mr. Minato said softly, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "But you look exhausted. Please, be careful. This neighborhood is usually so quiet." He paused, then added gently, "You are getting to be a famous person now, Komatsu-san. That brings trouble."

Airi watched as Mr. Minato retreated, leaving her standing in the ruined apartment, her cat safe in her arms. A famous person. The irony was staggering. She wasn't famous; she was a disgraced, unemployed former Archiving Analyst who had kissed a pop star. But Mr. Tanaka was right. The chaos had followed her home.

Airi locked the front door, checked the windows, and then finally walked over to the phone. The police needed to be called, her apartment secured, and the scandal addressed. But first, she had one crucial, inescapable call to make. The only person left in her life who understood the price of this chaos.

She sat down on the intact part of her sofa, Neko purring contentedly against her neck, and looked at her phone screen. She scrolled through her contacts, bypassing Saki's number, the guilt was too fresh, and stopped at Ren Ichijō.

He needed to know that their shared, beautiful moment had just cost her everything, and that the stakes were now impossibly high.